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CHAPTER 11: THREE MOTHERS, THREE SONS AND A SORROW SHARED
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
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New Orleans — Celeste Waddell didn’t know whether Hunter Reeves felt her presence. A respiratory therapist at Charity Hospital for nearly 22 years, she refused to leave her patient’s side as he struggled for his life. Hunter, unconscious, had come to Charity the week before Hurricane Katrina, in critical condition. Waddell, 46, didn’t want him to die alone.
At 23, he was barely older than her son, Christopher, her only child. She’d always been so proud of him. Christopher had been sickly as an infant, but he’d grown into a strapping young man. At 6-foot-2 and weighing 300 pounds, he’d been a freshman walk-on player the previous year for the Northwestern State University football team in Louisiana.
It was the mom in her that drew Waddell to Hunter. His medical treatment had been cut off by the storm. But she didn’t want the young man to suffer.
When the emergency power failed, she kept him breathing by squeezing a bag to pump oxygen into his lungs. When the heat rose, she fanned him. She poured her drinking water onto a towel and put the cloth on his fevered brow.
Dr. Ben deBoisblanc, director of the medical intensive care unit, tried to relieve her, but she snapped at him. Leave me alone, she said. I’m all right. Go help somebody else. The two had worked together for 15 years, and often fussed at each other.
Throughout Charity, people were on edge. They felt as if they were trapped on a sinking ship.
Someone who became known as “The Food Angel” brought the staff half-full Dixie cups of cold canned pork and beans or cold tomato soup. But food was running out for everyone. Nurses gave hungry patients multivitamins to provide at least some basic nutrients; some gave themselves intravenous fluids to prevent dehydration.
In the delirium of little sleep, food or water, they could see helicopters circling above and landing across the street at Tulane Hospital. But they were locked inside their own prison. They had no idea what was going on.
By Wednesday, rumors were flying. They’re coming to evacuate Tulane but not us. Gangs have taken over the hotels. People are committing suicide in the Superdome.
They could see looters wading through the water with stolen goods. They heard the crashing of storefront windows and occasional gunshots. In the growing anarchy, they feared that armed thugs would storm the hospital. The crisis in morale was evolving into mutiny.
Dr. Ben and others came to a conclusion: The only way we’re going to get off this rock is to rescue ourselves.
He was fed up with the false promises that the government was coming. He questioned whether hospital leaders were even asserting themselves. The CEO, Dwayne Thomas, remained five blocks away at Charity’s affiliate, University Hospital, which had also lost backup power.
Dr. Ben respected those who seemed to be in charge at Charity — Ed Burke, chief financial officer; Ron Broadus, director of human resources; Adler Voltaire, Charity’s chief administrative officer; and Dr. Jim Aiken, medical director for emergency preparedness. But they didn’t appear to him to be thinking outside the box. Katrina was its own breed of hurricane; it didn’t fit into the neat confines of the emergency preparation plan they were relying on.
Some medical staff felt those in charge were like generals in a war room who seldom ventured into the field. They cared deeply about the patients, but they didn’t know what it was like to watch them gradually wither away without dialysis. The doctors and nurses were in the trenches, their hands aching from hand-ventilating people they feared would die in their arms.
Charity staff had called CNN to let the world know of their plight. Soon afterward, the CEO of an air ambulance company headquartered in West Plains, Mo., contacted someone at Charity. His helicopters were already assisting in the evacuation of Tulane Hospital. He had four medevacs that could each take one patient if Charity could get its four sickest over to the Tulane parking garage, to a makeshift helipad.
Dr. Ben consulted with other doctors: Which four should go first?
Dr. Ben stopped by Hunter Reeves’ bed to reassure his mother, Sherry Hebert. Hang in there, he said, grabbing her by the arm. We’re going to get him out of here.
Of the four patients they had chosen to evacuate, Hunter was No. 1. He was young and his condition was treatable, and that meant his chances of survival were good if he received the medical care he needed.
Preston Johnson, on the other side of the ICU from Hunter, was also among the four. Preston, 25, had periods of consciousness, but his condition was unstable. He would bleed from his ears, nose and mouth; then the bleeding would stop.
Doctors were unsure what was wrong with Preston, although they knew he had suffered abdominal trauma during a fight. When Katrina hit, the pathology remained uncertain, but an oncologist said he had some type of lymphoma. They had started him on steroids, and the medication seemed to be helping.
His mother, Carolyn Lewis, had brought him to Charity a month before the storm. A former staff sergeant in the Air Force, Carolyn had been living on the sixth floor ICU, sleeping in the waiting room when she wasn’t at her son’s bedside reading Scripture, stroking him or singing his favorite hymns. She was good medicine for him, the staff felt. Every time she walked in, he perked up.
Waddell, who had helped care for Preston before the storm, had seen a similar reaction when the young man’s children came to visit. A couple of weeks earlier, Preston had been so gravely ill that doctors suggested his two little boys, 5 and 3, be summoned to see him. The older one, nicknamed Bubba like his father, ran in and said, Daddy, are you coming home, are you getting well? Preston opened his eyes and smiled. Waddell was struck by how happy Carolyn was to see her son’s reaction.
The respiratory therapist was a little more optimistic about Preston’s prognosis than she was Hunter’s. After the hospital lost backup power, staff had begun weaning some patients from their ventilators to see whether they could breathe on their own. Their evacuation would be easier if the machines did not have to be moved with them. Preston did fairly well in his trial off the ventilator.
Waddell knew the anguish Carolyn and Sherry felt. The mothers had become close, and she understood why. One day, when Preston had taken a sudden turn and seemed near death, she had spoken with his mother in private.
Waddell wore a necklace with three gold charms: a little boy, a football helmet and the words, “No. 1 Mom.” She also wore a gold cross — a gift from her son. For the first time, Waddell had told Carolyn about Chris.
He would have been 20 this year.
On March 1, 2004, Christopher Waddell collapsed during football practice and died from a heart attack. Losing her only child had been life-altering. He was “a kind and gentle giant,” she wrote for the college athletics Web site a year after his death. His life was a testimony “that it is possible to beat the odds by making the right choices in life.”
Carolyn was stunned by Waddell’s loss. I would never get over that, she thought. Her only child.
Waddell had told Carolyn gently that there could come a time when she, too, might have to say goodbye to her son.
I know you don’t want to see him suffer. So you may have to let him go.
Once again, medical staff prepared patients to leave. This time, they were determined to evacuate their four sickest, with or without government help.
When it was time to take Hunter, Waddell knew she had to say goodbye. She could not accompany him; patients here still needed her help. But it was hard to let him go. She wanted to be there for Hunter because she hadn’t been able to be there for her son, Chris, when he died.
She didn’t know whether Hunter could hear her, but she leaned over his bed and whispered goodbye, squeezing his hand.
Tell Chris I love him. He’s going to take care of you.
After strapping Hunter onto a spine board, doctors and nurses carried him down five flights of stairs to the outside. His mother lighted the way with a flashlight.
Then they prepared to move Preston. Carolyn watched as they wrapped around his arm a wooden cross someone had made him. They slid a key ring, with photos of his boys, around his middle finger.
Like everything in this operation, getting to Tulane from Charity would be hit-or-miss. How would they move four very sick people through channels of deep infested waters?
A Tulane employee had managed to float out in a canoe and flag down a National Guard trooper with a truck big enough to navigate the floodwaters. The trooper, who had lost contact with his unit, at first hesitated to help. But with no radio to ask permission, he agreed to go ahead.
Down on the ramp, Sherry jumped onto the truck with Hunter, but was told to get off. She did not complain; she wasn’t worried about herself. Like Carolyn, the mother was thinking only of her son. She kissed him goodbye.
Carolyn could not see Preston after they put him onto the back of the truck. She asked whether she could go with him, knowing she was his strength. No, they told her; she’d have to stay behind. A doctor and a patient’s father lifted her up so she could touch him. Mommy’s right here, * she told him. *I’m not going anywhere.
When he opened his eyes, she kissed her hand, then touched it to his cheek. Crying, Carolyn told Preston she loved him.
The two mothers stood on the emergency room ramp, holding hands and watching until the truck was out of sight. Each wondered: Will I ever see him alive again?
ON THURSDAY: Trouble in the parking garage. Chapter 12 of 22.
Comments
By dougie913@hotmail.com
May 16, 2006 03:37 PM | Link to this
I’ve been reading each chapter, and as I read, I am filled simultaneously with rage and despair that in the United States of America, suffering and helplessness like this had to be endured for as long as it did. This country and its’ so-called leadership should hold our collective heads in shame that we can do no better for our fellow citizens. THIS IS AMERICA, GOD-DAMNIT! Can we really do no better than some third-world, third rate hellhole civilization? Or does it really not matter, because the people suffering were poor and the wrong color to be worthy of compassion? SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!!!!!
By Antwon
May 16, 2006 04:49 PM | Link to this
Wonderful, wonderful story!
By
May 16, 2006 06:14 PM | Link to this
Heart wrenching what these people suffered through as the elected officials took off their coat & tie, rolled up their sleeves and proclaimed the end of conflict. Similar to another proclamation made while people suffered and died.
By Jan
May 17, 2006 06:36 AM | Link to this
that is just heart breaking………. I am in tears……………
By Maria Peagler
May 17, 2006 07:50 AM | Link to this
After reading this account of the government’s inaction and lies, I think former FEMA Director Browne should be held criminally negligent in the deaths of residents of New Orleans. Losing his job was a slap on the wrist;he should be held accountable and punished for the thousands of people he stranded. He and Chertoff both were and are a disgrace to the United States and our people, and George Bush should have sent a message that our citizens deserve better and will never be left stranded and helpless again.
By RWH
May 17, 2006 08:36 AM | Link to this
When mother nature or any accident such as the recent three hurrcanes, you will see people go beyond the call of those who actually responsible for situations such as Hurricanes Rita, Katrina, etc. What we fail to realizes is…the sure facts that fovernment don’t respond as quickly as normal human-beings. It is sad to see so many lives lost, people still displaced and struggling to live a normal life. Mothers, sons, sisters and daughters…how noble can anyone be at the dedications all of you have. I am sure, each of you will have it no other way regardless of your situations you face to date. God Speed!
By Harmonie
May 17, 2006 09:06 AM | Link to this
Wow, everyday I read and everyday I feel a little more sick. America is said to be this great country. I sit and think about how many times our Presidents have gone across the water fighting for other countries and their problems but yet when our own country is hit with devastation we had NO form of organization to get our own people out of harms way. Why are we at war again… oh really…. wow is all I can manage to say. Jane story well told keep up the good work.
By PB
May 17, 2006 09:08 AM | Link to this
I am so overwhelmed. We all have heard Katrina stories but nothing like what you are writing. I am so hurt by what these patients and hospital staff suffered through. It is hard not to be mad as hell at all the decision makers involved and their ability to not make things happen sooner.
On a happier note, you as a journalist should be commended. You have an amazing ability to make me feel like I am in the middle of Charity Hospital. I hear, feel, and smell everything taking place. That is true story telling at its finest. I do hope that your final chapters will be an update on the key players of this series.
By DDM
May 17, 2006 09:44 AM | Link to this
I wonder if any elected officials, who were responsible for creating and implementing emergancy procedures, have been reading this series. If so, it would be nice if they would make a comment or two to justify why this happened. The pain and suffering experienced is heart wrenching!!!!
By LZB
May 17, 2006 09:54 AM | Link to this
I, too, am in tears. I traveled to New Orleans this past weekend and was in tears while there too. As I drove by the Convention Center and Superdome, I recalled the thousands of people who waited there for much too long, for some of whom, death came before help did. Almost 8 months later, the city still looks like a ravaged, war-torn nation. I also drove by thousands of abandoned homes, which still have the markings on the walls from the search and rescue workers. The stories and pictures on the news simply could not depict the level of destruction that the city endured. You must see it for yourself. I agree with dougie913. Shame on the government. I take my hat off to the staff and family members at the hospitals, who worked to keep the patients alive. Job well done.
By Melva
May 17, 2006 10:17 AM | Link to this
This is such an awesome story. God Bless you for writing it. As for what happen, It should have never happend like this. We as a Nation should have been better prepared and I hope for everyone’s sake than next time and there will be a next time. We are better prepared than this and something as been learned from the past. In my opionion all Nursing Homes and Hospitals should have been evacuated. Why they were not is beyond me.
By Madelyn
May 17, 2006 10:45 AM | Link to this
As a former patient of both Tulane and Charity (where I spent a week in the critical care unit) I know first hand the huge discrepancies between these two hospitals. I remember watching the evacuation of Tulane thinking that Charity had once again become a victim of a greedy and money-hungry medical system. But this series fills me with hope. Hope that there are people in the world who understand that human life cannot be assigned a price tag. Hope that the same nurses and doctors who cared for me during my darkest hours were there to care for hundreds of others in their darkest hours. Hope that this series will cause people to understand how vital Charity Hospital has been for hundreds of years, since it was founded to care for the poor people of the city. Hope that Big Charity will open again to do “God’s work”. Praise for those brave persons who were called upon to serve during this catastrophe, and praise for the AJC for realizing the important impact of this story.
By Florie Tucker
May 17, 2006 11:59 AM | Link to this
As a nurse who now works in developing federal government emergency preparedness initiatives for medical response, I carefully watched the impact of Katrina on New Orleans hospitals. I was moved to tears as hospitals struggled to deal with totally unanticipated levels of operational crisis, knowing patients were probably going to die. AJC has done a powerful thing presenting the facts of this story, which needed to be told, in a deeply moving manner. May all of us in the health care system, public and private, as well as the government response system, learn from this and never allow it to happen again.
By Charlotta
May 17, 2006 12:06 PM | Link to this
Props to Jane Hansen - this is awesome journalism in so many ways. Beautifully told story. So well written. Every day I cannot wait for the paper to arrive! And thank you so much for continuing to remind us, not only of the disaster of what happened in New Orleans, but of how we, every day, are forgetting the poor, how America is a country of and for the rich. The same kinds of things, albeit on a different scale, are happening right here in Atlanta today and every day at Grady - Emory.
By Kevin Besse
May 17, 2006 12:49 PM | Link to this
I had the privilege of working in the Intensive Care Unit at Charity Hospital from 1993-1998. I consider Celeste and Ben, and the other staff at Charity to be heroes. It was truly agonizing not being able to be there for friends and former colleagues during Katrina and after. This is a story that needs to be told over and over again.
By Terry
May 17, 2006 02:49 PM | Link to this
My husband and I attended the second weekend of Jazzfest a couple of weeks ago. After traveling to New Orleans for that wonderful celebration for 19 years in a row, we couldn’t believe our eyes. The devastation and breathtaking sadness was as far as the eye can see. During our visit we were approached several times by people who still live in New Orleans. They wanted to thank us for being there, and in every case they said, “Please go back and tell people how bad it is here and that we need help.” But for us the saddest thing that happened was while we walked to the festival on the street that runs next to the fairgrounds where the Fest takes place. We passed an elderly man raking the layers of dirt that used to be his front yard. His home was completely destroyed behind him, and a tiny FEMA trailer sat in his side yard. Yet he greeted us with “We’re so glad to see y’all.” And then he said, “I used to have flowers and grass in this spot. I just hope that if I keep on diggin,’ something good might come up.” I can’t tell you how many times we were moved to tears that weekend. Let it be known that I’m doing what I promised the locals — New Orleans is, in fact, a war zone. No pictures or news footage can accurately show the magnitude of the devastation. And nine months later thousands of people are living in tiny FEMA trailers. And they are the lucky ones. They have some hope of salvaging their homes. On the other side of Lake Pontchartrain, where we stayed in a motel, every single business is desperately looking for help. There just aren’t enough people anymore to do the work. I started reading this series right after we returned from New Orleans, and I can’t stop myself from crying with each installment. There’s one image that keeps coming to mind from our recent trip. Painted on the front of two destroyed, abandoned houses just yards apart on one street was “Dead dog in garage” and “1 dead in dining room.” That’s going to haunt me for a long time.
By Dave
May 17, 2006 02:59 PM | Link to this
The overriding message of this series is and must be this. “When a disaster strikes, nobody is coming. We all need to have the resourcefulness, courage, and determination, in that order, to take care of ourselves, and each other.” Waiting for the government to come rescue us should never be anything but an option of last resort.
By
May 19, 2006 03:56 PM | Link to this
Yes, but our government can build schools and repave roads in Iraq?